Asclepias Blossoms
by MidsummerNiteDreamer
Summary: A collection of short stories, drabbles, and flash fiction set in the Trauma Center universe. [Part One: This Dance - Gabe and Maria exchange pillow talk for wedding whispering. Now with dancing!]
1. This Dance

**Asclepias Blossoms**

**A collection of short stories set in the universe of Atlus's ****_Trauma Center _****games.**

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**Title: **_This Dance_

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Gabe and Maria exchange pillow talk for wedding whispering. Now with dancing!

**Author Notes: **Originally published on my Tumblr for Traumusical's 2012 Trauma Center/Trauma Team Secret Santa Gift Exchange. This was my gift to Tumblr user The-Grim-Squeaker (Samira) who requested a piece with Maria and Gabe.

"Did you know Esha gave the bartender special instructions saying that I'm only allowed to get two drinks?"

"To be fair, we all remember your… _lovely _rendition of 'Jingle Bell Rock' at last year's Christmas party."

Maria gave a loud _hmph! _as she plopped down next to Gabe.

"I didn't know how fricking strong that eggnog was!" she said incredulously as she leaned over to adjust the hem of her cocktail dress. "Besides, this is a wedding! How the hell am I supposed to have fun at Esha's wedding without a little booze?"

Maria's question went unanswered as Gabe watched the couples on the dance floor.

"Are you a little, you know… sad?" Maria asked quietly.

"Why would I be sad?"

"Because, _you know_."

"I know what?!"

"Jesus, Gabe! Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Spell what out?"

"Your history with Esha!"

Gabe's hand flew straight to his forehead with a soft smacking sound. "Me? And _Esha_? Where the hell did you hear that?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Caught the deadliest virus at the hospital: nurse gossip."

"Oh god, no! No. No no no, Esha's practically my sister," Gabe said, shaking his head. He gave a loud guffaw that made Esha's grandmother two tables away look over disapprovingly. "I'm glad to see her married. Maybe that will finally get her off my ass about the little stuff. Anyway, since when did you believe all that hospital gossip crap anyway?"

"I didn't say I believed it!" Maria replied indignantly. "Jeez, can't someone just make conversation anymore?"

"That's some pretty heavy conversation, Maria."

Maria scoffed and snatched his scotch from him. "That's your opinion."

"Cranky tonight, aren't we?" Gabe said after a moment.

She pointedly turned away from him, taking a long swig of his drink.

They sat in silence for awhile, the soft sounds of a love ballad from the sixties playing in the background. Esha, glowing in her wedding gown, was dancing with her new husband a fair distance away. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Emma and Darnell laughing at something Hank had said. Alyssa was dancing on Navel's feet while Naomi looked on with a smile. Everyone's favorite (cleared, former) convict was being pulled and coaxed towards the dance floor by Tomoe.

All in all, there were worse ways to spend a Saturday night.

A loud sigh from Maria broke Gabe out his stupor. He traced her line of sight to see where she was looking. Realization dawned slowly.

"Hey Mariiiiia," Gabe asked in a singsong.

"Hm?" she said.

"Are you maybe feeling some bridesmaid's envy?"

Maria's head snapped up. "No!"

Gabe raised his hands in mock disbelief. "Sure you aren't."

"Shut up, I am not. I'm perfectly happy for Esha!" Maria said quickly. When Gabe looked unconvinced, she shot him a frosty glare. "God, who wants to wear one of those frilly, fluffy dresses anyway?"

"I want you to know I totally and completely do not believe you," Gabe said, a smirk creeping on his lips.

"You can be such an ass," Maria said. "Why do I even put up with you?"

Without skipping a beat, Gabe said, "Because who else will tell you that you look beautiful tonight?"

Unconvinced, Maria crossed her arms defiantly. "_I know I do_. And FYI, there have been, like, six guys who've asked for my number tonight."

In the dim light, Gabe swore he saw Maria's turn the slightest hint of pink.

"And where are all these suitors?"

"Off getting me drinks like gentlemen instead of annoying me," Maria said, pointedly shaking Gabe's now empty glass at him. "Speaking of which, if you want to make yourself useful…"

"I have a better idea."

Gabe grabbed the glass from her and set it down on the table. He stood and extended a hand expectantly towards Maria.

"What?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks you're asking me to dance."

"Good to know your PhD is well deserved, Dr. Torres."

Maria blinked up at him.

"Gabe," Maria said slowly. "I don't dance. Well, okay, I do, but not with you!"

"Sweetheart, there is a first for everything."

A flash of eyes meeting and ten seconds later, Gabe triumphantly held Maria's hand in his own.

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**Post Author's Note: **I have a lot of short, flash fiction-esque _Trauma Center _fics. A lot. I have finally decided to clean some up and post them for your reading pleasure. Reviews are very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this series.


	2. Very Serious Adults

**Title: **Very Serious Adults Speaking About Very Serious Subjects

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Derek and Tyler have a Very Serious Conversation about zombies.

**Author Notes: **You will never get me to change the title of this short, never ever ever ever. Look, I made references!

"Theoretically," Tyler said, dramatically waving his sleeve of crackers. "If there was a zombie apocalypse, we would have a pretty decent chance of survival."

Derek nodded at Tyler, not looking up from the case report he was reading. It had been a particularly busy day at Caduceus USA, and Derek and Tyler were taking a much needed break in one of the hospital's less frequented break rooms.

"True," Derek said thoughtfully after a moment. He pushed away the report before him and pulled down another one off the depressingly high stack next to him. "We've had experience with both large and small scale epidemics."

"Right!" Tyler said. "We'd definitely know how A) not become zombies ourselves, B) stop the walking dead from getting to us, and C) lead the world in World War Z, saving us all."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know about saving the world. We could probably prevent the spread of the, uh, zombie virus, I suppose."

"Oh yeah. You're probably useless with a gun," Tyler said. "Remember our memorable week in Archery Club in college? I swear that's why Dean Shepherd didn't like us! Those practice arrows were surprisingly sharp."

"Hey, I'm a surgeon now! Archery was way different," Derek said incredulously. "I have great aim!"

"Sure, sure, but what about strength, huh? You've been looking pretty scrawny lately, Stiles."

In mock bravado, Derek threw his pen down on the table."Well, I bet I could still take you, Chase!"

Tyler beckoned at Derek with his best imitation of a kung-fu master. "Bring it on, dude!"

Suddenly out of no where, the two heard a voice moan, "Brain!"

Derek and Tyler locked eyes, and then simultaneously snapped their heads in the direction of the door... only to see Leslie hustling into the room, clutching at her temple.

"Ugh! I feel like my brain is exploding!" Leslie collapsed onto the couch next to Tyler. "I have a massive headache. Today feels like it's never going to end! I don't ever went to see antibiotic gel again... Wait, why are you guys looking at me like that?"

Derek pointedly moved his report closed to his face. "No reason."


	3. Why Will You Say That I Am Mad?

**Title: **W_hy Will You Say That I Am Mad?_

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **The echoes of Navel's past sound curiously like the ticking of a pocket watch.

**Author Notes: **Allusion ahoy! Partially inspired by Angelglitched's Trauma Center: Preoperative Mortality.

In the dampest, dankest depths of downtown Portland there is a storage facility where knickknacks and baubles of nefarious of pasts and purposes are stored. If a man of average height and weight (perhaps with sandy blond hair and near translucent blue eyes) were to walk seventy-two steps down the long alley from the receiving lobby, make a sharp left, briskly move four steps, make another sharp left turn, and quickly jog the last thirteen steps and turn to his immediate right the man would find himself at storage unit number thirty-eight.

Past the steel door and its lock (combination zero-six-one-seven), and within the four concrete walls, lying at the exact center of the room is an old steel briefcase with no discernible markings and one single slot for a one key that belongs to one person, and one person alone.

Inside this briefcase there is a single object.

A pocket watch.

Tick, tick, ticking on ever so softly even as its owner is off in the world with bigger and better (so much better) things to do.

It once swung on a short gray chain against a field of black. Time had not dulled the distinctive spiral design on front cover that had seen so many horrendous, inhuman things. But what was once engraved on the back has been scratched, scratched, scratched away until it there is nothing but indiscernible crisscrosses on the back.

The man of average height and average weight with the messy blond hair and cold blue eyes often thinks of this watch and how it still tick and ticks away the seconds. He thinks about the watch and all it represents whenever his mind his left to wander - when he lies beside his wife in bed, when he drives his daughter to school, or when those people in black and orange with those same watches appear on the nightly news.

He knows why he keeps it. He knows that if he ever had the slightest inclination to go back, back to _those people_, he'd need only to show them his watch with the spiral design to prove his allegiance.

He tells himself that will never happen, yet the watch is kept.

So in the deepest of night, when he's alone and tip-tap-typing on his computer and the cold night air is silent, he will hear the ticking.

For a moment he will believe that the watch is resting once again against his tell-tale heart.


	4. The Only Thing

**Title: **_The Only Thing_

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Naomi is resistant, Gabe is persistent, and they really don't have it figured out at all. Gabriel Cunningham x Naomi Kimishima

**Author Notes: **Written from 's March 18th, 2013 daily writing prompt, which was to use the line in bold below as the opening sentence of a short story.

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_**"The only thing worse than giving up hope is not giving up hope, but I've still got my fingers crossed."**_

Gabe leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. Naomi scoffed quietly.

"Figuratively of course," he said, "My hands are little too busy at the moment to literally cross fingers. But otherwise, I got time." He languidly propped a foot on a stack of precariously stacked medical books.

"Well," Naomi said, a mixture of incredulity, shock, and genuine amusement lightly dusting her voice, "how long will this little… _crush _of yours persist?"

"I got time," Gabe repeated.

"I'm engaged," Naomi said.

Gabe lifted his coffee mug in a mock toast. "Yeah, you are. Allow me to offer my sincere congratulations once again."

"You are married! You have a child," Naomi insisted.

Darkness seemed to cross Gabe's face for a moment before his easy going smile returned. "For now."

"I'm returning to Japan tomorrow morning."

"I'll write you," Gabe said. "Real handwritten letters with wax seals and pressed flowers, the whole nine yards."

Naomi crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Or email. You know, whatever suits you."

"Fine then. Well then, I suppose we'll keep in touch."

Gabe waved goodbye as Naomi left his tiny office. "We will," he said to himself. "Fingers crossed."

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To the enigmatic doctor-suave on Tumblr AKA TheFicReviewer. Hats off to the fandom!


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